Legerdemain
by SilverCyanide
Summary: It starts as an impulse, itching the back of Enjolras' mind: they need a safe space, a political group, somewhere to carve out what LGBT means to them. It turns into much more than Enjolras could ever have hoped for.
1. Origins

Cross-posting from AO3, because this site will always be my true home. This fic is written as a series there, not a chapterfic, so in the future there may be non-chronological chapters. They will be noted.

Specific chapter notes: I was introduced as GSM as a more inclusive LGBTQ+, and that is the way it is used in this fic. Future trigger warnings in the universe for pretty much anything related to queer themes.

Chapter summary: Enjolras and Combeferre are determined to start a GSM group on campus. Unfortunately, the administration is not on their side. (Except, it seems, for Combeferre's religion professor and his daughter.)

* * *

**Origins**

It starts over dinner.

Enjolras and Combeferre don't always eat together, but they try to make time at least once a week. Part of that is so they'll really talk, and part of that is they are both atrocious at eating real food unless forced. It's one of these evenings just a few weeks into term when, over decent spaghetti and surprisingly okay salads in the cramped kitchenette of their suite, Enjolras brings it up.

"I want to start a GSM group."

Combeferre sets his glass down and studies zir. "You mean like a GSA or something?" Ze shrugs.

"Sure, except 'GSA' is an incredibly narrow term and particularly frustrating since while the inclusion of allies is not—"

"But that's the general idea?" Combeferre clarifies before Enjolras can get too far into a tangent. Zir talent for that is incredible, and while Combeferre appreciates it at times, now is not one of those.

"Yes." Enjolras cuts another mouthful of spaghetti, which makes Combeferre cringe; it is_ pasta_, meant to be _twirled_. "I double checked, just in case anything had sprung up, but we're still woefully lacking in _any_ sort of gender and sexuality group, which is absolutely appalling." Combeferre nods his agreement as ze is occupied with a mouthful of pasta.

"I can't say I disagree, especially given campus isn't a particularly safe space." He thinks about the gay joke one of his professors cracked in class last week, as if it wasn't too early in the semester for this sort of bullshit. Combeferre would have dropped the class, but it was a day too late, and Intro Psych isn't a course he can just skirt around.

"I think it could do a lot of good." Enjolras' voice is firm, but there's an added spark in zir eyes that only pops up when ze's really passionate about something. "The chance to provide a comfortable environment and also rally for legislative change in both a college and real world setting is incredibly important, especially because so far the administration seems to think _we don't exist_." Combeferre knows ze is thinking of zirself, designated to "male or female" on the rooming form, of Courfeyrac who was forced to live in an uncomfortable dorming situation last year by campus rules. He admits, it would be nice to have more of a voice.

"We'll draft something up," he promises, and that is that.

* * *

All of the spare time they have (which is, admittedly, not a lot) over the next week is dedicated to drafting a proposal. Enjolras writes the bulk of it, but Combeferre runs over everything to smooth the wording out and make it less confrontational. (Much to Enjolras' disappointment, since "how are they going to learn how_ disgusting_ they are if we don't point it out to them_ full force_?") They intend to go to Dean Javert with the dangerously-long proposal on Wednesday, but Enjolras gets fed up on Tuesday afternoon and storms into the dean's office with neither an appointment nor Combeferre by his side.

"You need to treat GSM students equally," ze starts, "and I would like to offer you the chance to begin that process by granting my friend and I permission to start a—GSA." Enjolras hates the term, but Combeferre had argued over its ability to be recognized, an argument which won out in the end.

Javert frowns. He glances down at the stack of paper Enjolras has tossed on his desk and skims through a few pages. Enjolras is standing, hands flat on Javert's desk, posture confrontational. After a moment, Javert looks up at zir.

"I cannot do that," he says, and before Enjolras can get out a word of protest, Javert continues, "School policy dictates we treat everyone_ equally_, which means no _special_ treatment is allowed. Such a group would clearly violate those codes."

Enjolras goes to protest, but Javert has already pressed the proposal back into zir hands. "Good day."

As much as ze wants to, Enjolras knows pressing the issue is no use. Ze takes zir leave, and if the door rattles in the frame on the way out, well, ze feels no shame.

Ze expects Combeferre to be back in their suite by the time ze gets back, but he's still gone, so ze indulges and flops onto the couch with a pout. Unfortunately for zir, Combeferre arrives minutes later; the look Enjolras is sporting tells him everything he needs to know, and he is barely in the room before he says, "They said no?"

Enjolras sighs. "Yes," ze admits, and though zir voice isn't defeated, it's certainly not optimistic. "He didn't even give me a chance."

Combeferre wishes he was surprised. "We'll find a way around it," he reassures, sitting down next to his friend. Enjolras runs a hand through unruly blond curls, frustrated flush high on zir cheeks. Something clicks in Combeferre's mind.

"I have an idea." He is sure to keep his voice steady, because he does not want to get Enjolras' hopes up. "I was… just at office hours, talking to Professor Valjean and… obviously, if the school won't let us, they won't let us, but he… I could see him being a staff advocate or sponsor." Enjolras' brows rise.

"He teaches religion," ze says pointedly. Combeferre shrugs.

"And he believes in God's overwhelming love for everyone," Combeferre says. It feels foolish to admit, but he tested the waters during their conversation that afternoon, perhaps a bit too personally, and Professor Valjean's response had been incredibly comfortable.

"Great," Enjolras says, and though ze doesn't sound incredibly enthusiastic, that spark is still there. "Let's set up a meeting."

"Let me broach the topic," Combeferre replies quickly. "We both know you can come over rather… strong."

"As I should," ze immediately argues, "It's _despicable_ the way people are treated, especially by authority figures who—"

"I know, I know," Combeferre soothes. "But just… let me, please?" Enjolras gives him a long look but finally acquiesces.

* * *

The next afternoon, Combeferre ends up back in Professor Valjean's office. He must be some sort of insane man, because he holds office hours every day of the week and answers emails at all hours of the night, but right now that is working in Combeferre's favor. When he knocks on the door frame, Professor Valjean looks up from a pile of papers and smiles.

"Ah, Will, can I help you?" His eyes are warm and kind. "I must admit—I wasn't expecting you back so soon, I haven't looked over the article you suggested me yet." Combeferre enters and smiles; he drops into the chair to the side of Professor Valjean's desk, placed so they'll feel a little more like equals.

"It's actually not about that," Combeferre says. "It's…" He takes a moment to find the proper words. Professor Valjean waits, non-judgmental.

"My roommate and I are very interested in starting a GSM—gender and sexuality minority, just a more encompassing term for LGBT—group on campus, to act as a safe space and a base for political change."

The corners of Professor Valjean's eyes crinkle in a smile. "I would be entirely willing to sponsor that," he replies. Combeferre's answering smile is weak.

"That would be appreciated, professor. Our problem is, the administration has turned us out before even giving us a chance, because they feel it would be 'special treatment'." Professor Valjean's brow furrows.

"I have found," he admits, "that it is often futile to argue with them." Combeferre's stomach sinks a bit. He is not sure what he expected to hear, but part of him had certainly hoped Professor Valjean would tell Combeferre he would help fight for their cause.

"However," Professor Valjean continues, almost conspiratorially, "it is… not uncommon for students to have dinner at professors' homes, if you and your friend would be interested in joining me soon for a discussion on an, ahem, roundabout way to achieve your goal."

Combeferre can't help his grin. "That would be incredible, sir."

* * *

That is how, the next evening, Enjolras and Combeferre find themselves ringing the doorbell to Professor Valjean's house. To their intense surprise, a girl with golden skin and long, dark hair who looks a few years younger than them opens the door.

"You must be here to see Papa," she says kindly as they toe off their shoes. On cue, Professor Valjean emerges from what must be the kitchen down the hall.

"Ah, welcome, it's good to see you," he says, and his voice is as warm as his house. Enjolras, who hates meeting new people, relaxes just a little.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," ze says, extending zir hand. Professor Valjean's handshake is firm but pleasant. Most of Combeferre's nerves flee.

"Ah, excuse me—this is my daughter, Cosette," he introduces, and though she looks nothing like him, they share the same kind eyes. She smiles brightly. "Cosette, these are two of my students."

"Technically, I'm not your student," Enjolras corrects immediately. Combeferre wants to slap zir because_ they need Professor Valjean's help_, but Professor Valjean just chuckles.

"That," he replies, "is true." Then something beeps in the kitchen, and he starts. "And_ that_ would be the lasagna. Come, come."

Combeferre and Enjolras follow him down the hall, and Cosette brings up the rear. Their kitchen is small but ridiculously homey, very unlike the shitty kitchenette in the dorm Enjolras and Combeferre share. The sturdy round wooden table is laid out for four, and so Enjolras and Combeferre seat themselves as Professor Valjean takes food out of the oven and Cosette pulls milk out of the fridge.

The first few moments of the meal are awkward: just starting the beginning of their second year, neither has properly been over to a professors home before; there's a slightly uncomfortable moment when Valjean and Cosette say grace; and neither Enjolras nor Combeferre know quite how to broach the topic of dismissing school authority in order to start a social and political GSM group. Luckily, they don't have to.

"I'm certain you've given this more thought than I have," say Professor Valjean, "so please, disillusion me, because I have been turning the idea of—I'm afraid I can't remember the terminology you used, so sorry, but your LGBT group—over for the past day and am, sadly, at a loss for official directions in which to take this." A frown settles across Combeferre's face, and he continues, "I am certainly willing to contribute in whatever way possible, but my position as a professor makes—ah, things perhaps more difficult rather than less."

Enjolras sets zir fork down. "The most preferable way would be to petition to the administration straight on about the disgustingly unfair treatment they display toward GSM students—" Combeferre kicks him under the table, and Enjolras inhales sharply, "however, we… recognize that may not be too practical, especially without a group of others to join us."

Combeferre can feel Enjolras' frustration already mounting, so he steps in. "We have discussed the possibility of a more unofficial group, but are struggling with locations. I… admit, neither of us is opposed to simply commandeering a classroom, but that could get uncomfortable and confusing. We entertained the idea of holding meetings in public, but felt the need for privacy in order to create a safer space would make that an inopportune location."

Professor Valjean crosses his hands and looks pensive, frown lingering at the corners of his lips. Next to Enjolras, Cosette's glass clinks against the table.

"We could hold meetings here," she says immediately. All eyes turn to her with varied levels of shock and interest. She flushes a little and brushes a strand of messy black hair behind her ear, but her voice is firm as she says, "We've got a perfectly good finished basement."

Enjolras looks like ze could kiss her. Combeferre, though a little more hesitant, is hopeful. He glances at Professor Valjean, whose brow has furrowed slightly as he contemplates. Finally, he answers, "I think that sounds like a wonderful idea."

The rest of dinner is easy, full of passionate chatter from both Enjolras and Combeferre on the merits (and need) of political activism in college students and safe spaces and the struggles of queer representation. By the time they leave, hearts a little lighter with a 'fuck you, institution' running through their souls, they have set next Thursday at seven in the evening for their first official meeting.


	2. Greetings

You'll realize here that chapter length varies greatly. Whoops? Also these first updates'll all be quick since, y'know, cross-posting.

ALSO, I've decided to post this under 'book' instead of 'play' because, even as a Modern AU, I try my best to work off of book canon/modernize canon events. Feedback is always welcome but yeah. :) Just thought it'd be important to note.

Chapter summary: Sometimes all it takes is a lot of awkwardness and a little compassion to make a new friend.

* * *

**Greetings**

Courfeyrac wishes she could say she was on time to her first class of the school year. She really does. And honestly—she tried. But she's got outfit anxiety (because _professors_) and even after being there a year she manages to turn down the wrong corridor. The result is that she's four minutes late on a day everyone else is extremely punctual, and so she slides into the desk right next to the door in the front row. The kid a desk over fucking _beams_.

"Courfeyrac," she says when the professor looks at her expectantly. She can see him find her, because his brow furrows just a fraction: she spits out "I go by 'Lily'" before he can ask. Thankfully, he just nods, hands down a syllabus, and continues with his start of term speech.

Next to her, this boy (_?boy?_ Courfeyrac can't be sure, but he's wearing a paisley bowtie with a loose floral button up) is scribbling away in his notebook. It's tilted toward her, since he's a leftie in a right-handed desk, but the letters are so scrawling and slanted they are hard to read.

When he notices her staring, he blushes to the tips of his ears.

"We're starting with basic discussion questions," their professor says, "they're up on the board, I'll give you five minutes—partner up with the people around you."

Courfeyrac smiles at the boy, who's still pink around the edges. "Partners?" she asks, feeling much more put together than when she'd entered class. The boy nods.

"Y-yeah," he squeaks, then shakes his head. "Sorry," he replies more steadily a second later, "I get nervous meeting new people and… first day of college, you know." Courfeyrac grins.

"Awwww, you're a freshman?" she coos. The boy's cheeks tinge pink.

"It's an intro class…" he murmurs, but glances around like he can confirm he's not the only freshman there.

"You're right, you're right—sorry for teasing. I'm probably the one who should be taunted, being a sophomore and all of that." She tucks an unruly strand of hair behind her ear and says, "I'm Lily Courfeyrac, by the way." She extends her hand, larger than she likes; the boy takes it without hesitating. His grip is gentle, hand thin and almost feminine.

"Jean—well, Jehan, Prouvaire," he says. Then he glances down, and goes a nervous red as he says, "and today I use the pronouns he, him, and his."

It's not something that happens often, so it catches her off guard. He's used the same phrase Enjolras favors every time ze meets a new person, so Courfeyrac quickly gathers her bearings and says, "I use she, her, and hers."

Jehan smiles at her a little more surely and glances at the board. "So, favorite literature experience so far?"


	3. Sundays in September

Whispers it should be noted as much as I canonically adore Marius and Cosette, Cosette is pretty dang gay in this AU so I am no sure they could ever happen. Though I uh, still don't have anything planned out either way.

Chapter summary: Marius will always be really bad with girls. Courfeyrac is sort of pleased by it.

* * *

**Sundays in September**

Marius knows staring isn't polite. That's been drilled into him since his childhood, a harsh whisper followed by a smack to the head when he spends too much time looking at anyone who catches his eye while out in public. Bad manners, disgraceful—he's heard it all.

And yet, he's still staring.

He can't help it: she's really pretty. Her hair is a lovely auburn with waves that seem to go on forever and a high-cut shirt with tights under shorts that show off her legs which—well, she's got to be an athlete, and—

He's not staring. He totally isn't. That's entirely what he tells himself when she meets his eyes and smiles at him so that he goes bright red. Marius tears his eyes away and focuses firmly on his coffee cup, bending the cardboard cup sleeve flat and then popping it back up again. By the time he's folded it over multiple times and started to tear it apart, he figures she should be gone or at least have found herself a seat.

He doesn't expect for her to be standing right next to him.

"Ah, sorry," she says immediately, blowing gently on the cup she's cradling between her hands. "I just wanted to ask—everywhere else is packed, in this seat taken?" She nods toward the chair across from him. Marius flushes and shakes his head.

"N-no, it's—no." Her grin is bright when she sits across from him, settling the cup carefully on the slightly wobbling table. Marius dives for his bag next to him so he can pull out something, _anything_ to take his attention off of her and not look like such an idiot. He manages to come up with a sharpie and his math notebook. Spectacular.

"Are you all right?" she asks, and she sounds like she genuinely means it. Marius rubs the back of his neck.

"I, um—yeah, I just…" Her smile is a little crooked.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have asked to sit," she says and immediately makes to stand. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"No!" Marius blurts out. "I just—it's just that you're um...you're really pretty." Her eyes widen a bit and she sits back down.

"Well," she admits, "that was not was I was expecting. Thanks."

Marius runs a hand through his hair and cringes. "God, I'm sorry, I'm really, really bad with girls and then I'm really awkward and great, now I'm just rambling at you and—sorry." He drops his head to his hands and sighs. She chuckles.

"Well, if it helps to try and start over—hi, I'm Lily Courfeyrac, thanks for letting me sit across from you."

"Marius Pontmercy," he mutters, still mortified by his behavior, "and it's um, my pleasure. Really."

"What are you working on?" she asks, gesturing to his notebook like he's truly doing work and not just flailing about.

"Er, well… not technically anything," Marius admits, tucking things back into his bag and pulling out his Latin notebook instead. "But I should do my Latin work." Courfeyrac studies him for a moment.

"Pardon my asking, but are you in high school?" Marius flushes.

"Yeah," he admits, and feels stupid because of course he can't pass as a college kid, and here is this gorgeous girl who's at least a year older than him putting up with him regardless.

"It's nothing against you," she says quickly, "I just don't want to uncomfortably flirt with a sixteen year old or something."

"I'll be eighteen in half a month," Marius rushes. He should be embarrassed by his eagerness, but a pretty girl has just said the word _flirt_ in relation to him and, well, he can't quite help it. "I'm a senior." The way her eyes roam over him make Marius feel exposed. He's not sure he minds.

"Well, in that case," she says, and it's half a whisper; there's a sparkle in her eye, "you're ridiculously cute yourself, and I don't just mean adorable." Then she has the nerve to _wink_, and Marius is sure he's going to faint because _girls_, when Courfeyrac pulls his notebook over. She grabs a pen from her own bag and scribbles her phone number down.

"Text me," she says lightly, and then she gets up and practically skips away, leaving Marius distracted the rest of the day.


	4. The First Meeting

Chapter summary: The GSM group Enjolras and Combeferre are pioneering has their first meeting and they learn there's nothing quite like awkward introductions.

* * *

**The First Meeting**

Much to Enjolras' displeasure, Combeferre gives zir a stern talking to about "not plastering the campus with posters so as not to get Professor Valjean into trouble". Ze's still allowed to tack up some posters though, so over the next couple of days non-descript pieces of paper promoting "an off-campus safe space for gender and sexuality minority students, including lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender individuals" pop up on student bulletin boards and near doors into academic buildings. "303 N. Musain street" is printed across the bottom, large enough to see but small enough to be discreet in hopes that no one will bother Professor Valjean about it. They still don't have a proper name: Enjolras and Combeferre have been rejecting each other's ideas even after they posted the fliers. (Enjolras will not admit it but the most recent one Combeferre suggested, The GSM Society, though still terrible, is sort of growing on him. GSMS is not a nice acronym, but it's certainly not the worst.)

Combeferre and Enjolras arrive at Professor Valjean's home at quarter to seven, hoping they aren't interrupting anything by being a few minutes early. Cosette lets them in like they are old friends, offering anything they need and inquiring about their weeks.

"The basement's just down these stairs," Cosette informs, pulling open a door just around the corner. The doorbell rings and Cosette immediately jumps to fetch it. From behind, Combeferre and Enjolras can make out Courfeyrac when the door opens, unmistakable in her dashing lacy dress.

"Hi!" she says brightly. "I hope I'm in the right—ah, I see I am." She's spotted Enjolras and Combeferre and waves at them as she slips her flats off.

"Pardon me, I'm Lily Courfeyrac," she says as she turns back to Cosette.

"Cosette," Cosette replies. "I—well, live here."

"That would make sense. I was wondering how someone other than these two beat me here. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure's all mine," says Cosette and she sounds utterly genuine. She glances back over to where Enjolras and Combeferre are still standing, and shoos them toward the door. "I can take care of this," she insists. "Please, make yourselves at home."

Courfeyrac, long hair spilling over her shoulders, takes a wrist in each hand and replies, "We will. Thank you." as she drags her friends down the staircase.  
The basement is cozy, with carpet that doesn't scratch and couches you could probably sleep on. There's a door in the corner that's open to a small bathroom. Courfeyrac leads the exploration by flopping onto the couch and sighing happily.

"This is so much better than my couch," she mumbles, then glances around at Combeferre and Enjolras. Combeferre has taken a seat in an armchair, and Enjolras is looking hesitantly at the half spot on the couch between the chair and Courfeyrac. She rolls her eyes and moves her feet so that Enjolras can sit down.

"Thank you," ze says, and though it sounds dismissive, Courfeyrac can tell it's sincere. She grins and sits up so she can ruffle zir hair.

"Nervous about this?" she asks, because Enjolras is great in a crowd but this—their own group—is something new. Enjolras shrugs.

"Not particularly." Combeferre and Courfeyrac both see the way zir fingers drum against the edge of the couch but say nothing.

All three hear the doorbell go off upstairs, and the muffled tones of Cosette greeting whomever has arrived. A minute later, a small figure comes hopping down the stairs. Enjolras and Combeferre have never seen them before, but Courfeyrac grins.

"You caaaaame," she calls in dramatic tones, sprawling over the edge of the sofa. Jehan quirks a small smile, hand tight on their messenger bag.

"You did ask nicely," Jehan teases. They settle easily into the corner of the smaller couch close to Courfeyrac. They notice the others and say, just a bit shaky, "Jehan Prouvaire—nice to meet you."

Before Enjolras and Combeferre reply, loud, boisterous laughter floods the hallway and footsteps pound from above. The group is barely in the basement before Enjolras groans.

"Grantaire," ze hisses, and Courfeyrac pats zir arm. She doesn't share the frustrations Enjolras does, but she can certainly see where they come from.

"He is queer," Combeferre points out softly as the three new occupants yell and fight over seats. Immediately, Jehan looks to Courfeyrac, who scoots to the middle of the couch and smiles. Jehan launches out of their seat and tucks themself into the corner of the couch.

Grantaire claims Jehan's prior seat, and a buff person with a beard fit for November and long, dark hair is settled next to him. The final proper seat in the room, an armchair between Combeferre and the wall, now holds a twitchy ginger with short, straight hair. The three newcomers continue to interact loudly amongst themselves, ignoring the others.

At two minutes to seven, Cosette shuffles down and asks if there is anything she can get them. Combeferre turns her down politely, and she smiles and nods, but does not immediately leave. Instead, she hesitates between the couch and the stairs, worrying her bottom lip.

"You're welcome to join us," Courfeyrac finally says. The way her eyes light up tell Courfeyrac she made the right move, and so Cosette settles herself comfortably on the floor in front of Courfeyrac and Jehan.

They start promptly at seven. No one else shows up, and Enjolras' opening statement is followed by struggling silence. Ze knows jumping into the politics right away is less than ideal, but isn't quite sure where else to start. Ze is just about to ask if anyone has an issue they'd like to bring to the table when Combeferre clears his throat.

He smiles and pushes thick tortoiseshell frames up his nose. "I, ah—it would probably be wise to do introductions," he says, and his voice is steady despite his nerves. "So, hello—for those of you who don't know, I'm Will Combeferre and I guess I'm the cofounder of this…"

"GSM group," Enjolras supplies helpfully. Combeferre nods.

"Yes, GSM group. I… we'll do year in school, pronouns and…" He smiles a little "what animal you'd be if you were an animal." Jehan lets out a little, excited gasp then blushes pink.

"So," Combeferre continues, "I'm a sophomore, I use he, him, and his and I would be either an owl or a rhinoceros." He looks to Enjolras and smiles; ze sighs.

"Enjolras," ze says, ignoring zir first name. "I'm also a sophomore, my preferred pronouns are ze, zir, and zirs, and I would not be an animal." Courfeyrac elbows zir so ze adds, "Fine. Grasshopper."

Courfeyrac looks pleased. "I'm Lily or Courfeyrac or whatever you'd like to call me! Another sophomore which…" She glances around, "yeah, the majority of us are. My pronouns are she, her, and hers, and I thiiiiiink I'd have to be a dog."

Cosette is between her and Jehan, so she goes next. Her voice is gentle after the brasher Courfeyrac, and she smiles politely as she says, "I'm Cosette Fauchelevent and um… I'm technically just here because I live here—I'm only a junior in high school."

"Catholic or public?" the ginger boy in the corner asks. Cosette studies him for a half second and answers.

"Catholic. My pronouns, I guess, are she, her, and hers, and I like to think I'd be a bird, perhaps a lark."

Eyes turn to Jehan, who is fidgeting with their hands. "I'm Jean—well, Jehan—Prouvaire, I'm a freshman who is… today, I'm using they, them, and theirs," they speak softly, head cocked to one side; their eyes are downcast and they smile apologetically as they finish, "If I could be any animal, I would be a cat."

Grantaire is next, and his bright, dark eyes crinkle as he says, "Sebastian Grantaire, but I'll punch you if you use my first name. Sophomore, he/him/his, and—" he stares straight at Enjolras when he says, "Bat."

The boy next to him laughs loudly; it shakes everything. "Sorry, sorry," he apologizes with mirth. "Right. I'm Ryan Bahorel, and you can call me whatever 's long as you're not being a fuckface about it." Cosette emits a small gasp at the language; Jehan squeaks. "I'm a junior, unless I manage to fuck something up, and I guess my pronouns are he, him, and his. And I think I'd be… probably a bear or a wolf." His grin is a perfect cross between those two animals. Grantaire rolls his eyes.

The ginger boy unfolds himself from the chair and brings one knee up so he can fiddle with a tear in the knee of his pants. "Nathan Feuilly, you can call me Nate or Feuilly or—" He shrugs and doesn't look at the room. All his concentration is focused on his pants. "I'm a sophomore and I use, um, he, him, and his. I'd be…" He hesitates a second too long and at the same time, Bahorel and Grantaire exclaim:

"Fox!"

Feuilly glares. "Red panda, assholes," he answers. Everyone laughs. The remaining tension has been broken.

They open the floor to discussion about rules—respect, privacy, and the like. Grantaire, to Enjolras' pleasure, is a staunch supporter of the "personal things said here don't leave here" rule, and actually keeps his frustrating comments to a minimum. Cosette, to no one's surprise, remains very quiet; but, to perhaps everyone's surprise, Jehan speaks up. Their questions about goals and safety and conjunction with the college help Enjolras and Combeferre clarify to others and themselves exactly what they are aiming for. By the time the hour ends, all eight of them are a little bit closer.

Enjolras leaves full of determination that this will actually work out.


	5. Catching Up

Reminder Jehan is genderfluid and uses multiple pronoun sets depending on the day. :)

Chapter summary: Jehan has terrible timing, and Joly realizes there are some things he might have never considered.

* * *

**Catching Up**

She's been nose deep in her Classics reading for the past few hours, dead to the world, so Jehan doesn't think anything of knocking on Joly's door. He always takes meticulous biology notes, and she's on a roll and really does need to fill in the places she's accidentally written poetry.

"J-just a moment!" Joly calls, sounding a little shaky. Jehan hears a couple of thumps and then Joly cracks open the door in jeans and a t-shirt that looks too big for him. His hair is very mussed. Jehan can hear laughter from behind him.

"Oh God, did I interrupt something?" she asks, immediately worried. "I just—wanted to know if I could borrow your bio notes." Joly glances behind him and after a moment turns back to Jehan and sighs.

"Yeah, no, it's fine, I've got them—they're on my laptop though, so come in." He holds the door open just enough to let Jehan slip in. She does with ease and sees a brown girl in a shirt that is definitely Joly's sitting on the bed pulling her hair back; a broad-shouldered black boy is next to her, back to the wall, chuckling. Joly tries to glare, but the way the two of them laugh tells Jehan just how effective it was.

"Who's this?" the girl asks, and Jehan realizes she's bumped into her a few times in the hallway.

"I'm Jehan," she says, because it's a name she prefers regardless of her gender. "I live right across the hall—I just… needed to get bio notes, I hadn't realized you guys were busy or—" She blushes scarlet. The other girl laughs.

"Don't worry hon, you didn't really, promise. We were just hanging out—" She flicks the large boy's arm when he laughs again "—you know, snuggling." Joly, sitting in the middle of the floor and typing in his laptop password, is the one who blushes this time. The girl tosses at a teddy bear at Joly's head and rolls her eyes before turning back to Jehan. "I'm Muschietta by the way. And he—" she points to the boy next to her on the bed, "is Luke or Bossuet or Lesgles or whatever the hell he wants to go by today." Muschietta sticks her tongue out and Bossuet elbows her in the ribs.

"Got them," Joly mutters and stands up. "Would it work better if I emailed them to you or…?"

"I only need a couple of sections, that would probably be overkill." Jehan fiddles with the end of her ponytail. "I could—I don't want to take your computer if you need it, it's probably fine if you just email them to me I guess, whatever's easiest…" Joly scrolls down through his document of notes and shakes his head.

"Which sections do you need?" he finally says, sighing. When Jehan hesitates, he says, "Go get your notes, we'll go through things together." Jehan brightens.

"Thank you," she says in a rush of breath and scurries off. When she returns a minute later, Muschietta and Bossuet are lingering in the doorway.

"Oh no, I'm sorry—I shouldn't—you guys were hanging out, and I could do this later and—"

Muschietta taps Jehan thrice in the center of her forehead with her index finger. "Don't worry about it, we really should have left ages ago anyway. Luke, don't give me that pout, I know you had a paper due an hour ago."

"Shit!" Bossuet sighs a little. "I totally forgot about that. Why didn't you remind me?"

"You say that like you care," Joly says and Jehan sees an uncharacteristic eye roll out of him. "Shoo, go get it done or charm the pants off of your professor or whatever." Then Bossuet leans in for a goodbye kiss and Muschietta follows before the two of them leave and Joly motions Jehan in.

"You three are cute," she says to break some of the tension that's formed as Joly settles on the floor with his back against the bed. She sits next to him, legs crossed. The two of them spend the next forty minutes catching her up on notes and then, almost to the end, Jehan peters out and tips backward with her legs pressed straight against the wall.

"Is that all of them?" Joly asks, sounding a lot less exhausted than she does. Jehan sighs and looks to the notebook flipped open beside her.

"I… would say yes, but I sorta accidentally wrote poetry over my notes from the last class."

"I literally do not understand how that is possible," he says. "Like, how do you manage to miss so much?" She shrugs.

"I'm just not that into bio," she admits, "or, well… science is cool, and there are times it's certainly beautiful, but I kind of get distracted by poetry." She flops an arm over her eyes. "Sorry for bugging you with this. Especially earlier…"

"It's not a huge deal," Joly says, "I just wasn't expecting you earlier when um… yeah." Then, he immediately adds, "We really were just snuggling. And, well, making out a little but nothing like weird I-I promise!" Jehan is surprised to feel herself go scarlet, while Joly stays relatively unflushed. Then with a groan she turns herself over and props up on her elbows.

"So this might be weird and too forward," she starts, kicking her socked feet back against the white cinderblocks of the small dorm room. "But like… we know each other, right?"

Joly is halfway through wiping down his glasses but he glances at her anyway. "Yeah, I mean, we do this sometimes and we share classes and talk or whatever." Jehan nods.

"Right. I just—asked, because I sorta… met this girl in a class who I also know, and she convinced me to go to this… I guess it's political but also just like supportive LGBT group and, I dunno." Jehan shrugs and taps her feet together. "I just figured, you three—I mean, it seems moderately queer or whatever, maybe you'd be interested in coming too?" She's sure all of her blood is in her face right now. "It'd just be nice to know someone else."

When she glances at him, Jehan finds that Joly is peering at her with furrowed brows through his glasses, but he doesn't look upset. "I'm flattered," he finally says, his voice just a tad higher than normal, "but I'm straight."

The surprise turns back on her. "Oh—I—_sorry_, I shouldn't have, I just assumed that, because of earlier, it was like… all three of you equally."

"It is," Joly says almost immediately. "I mean, I guess we've got a habit of squishing me in the middle recently—because I'm new here, and Muschietta and I dated in high school, and I haven't gotten to see much of Luke in person until now but um… yeah, it is, I'm just… I don't like guys?"

Jehan knows she shouldn't. She knows how someone identifies is personal, that labels are sometimes iffy. But she can't help the high-pitched, mortified giggle that escapes.

"Sorry—oh God, I'm so sorry, I _shouldn't_, but… it just, you and Bossuet, plus I just figured—he was a guy?" She folds her arms and drops her head into them, nose bumping the dusty dorm carpet. Joly makes a small, choked sound.

"_Oh_," Joly says, sounding almost surprised. "No, he is. That's… right." Joly 'hmm's a little. "I hadn't thought of it like that. He's just… Luke, not like 'a guy'?" When Joly looks at Jehan, it reminds her of how he looks during biology lessons even she manages to stay awake for. "Can you be like… mostly into girls but with a couple of guys?" It sounds both genuine and scientific. Jehan giggles.

"Of course, you can be into people any combination of ways. And it can change, too." She hauls herself up so she's sitting again and picks up her pen again. "Right. Finishing these notes."

But, as Jehan leaves Joly's room a half hour later, Joly asks, "When is it? That group thing?" and Jehan tells him with a grin.


	6. The Second Meeting

Chapter summary: Enjolras isn't here to coddle the people who spend every day oppressing and co-opting zir struggles, and ze makes that very well known. But sometimes, ze goes a little overboard on the assumptions, much to zir chagrin.

Notes: This chapter references specific incidents of homophobia/transphobia (though not physical violence). Also, reminder that not all opinions a character has are also shared by the author. Also, I recently realized I have seen zir/zirs used with both 'ze' and 'zie', and have been using 'ze' in this fic, though 'zie' appears to be more standard. Whoops.

* * *

**The Second Meeting**

Next Thursday's meeting has both a better and worse turn out than Enjolras expected. Better because three new people show up, taking their member total from eight to eleven. Worse because from the way two fuss over the third's injury after falling down the stairs, there's a pretty good chance this is just a poly couple trying to force their way into a queer space. And though Enjolras doesn't want to be the bad cop, ze definitely does not want to put up with this BS anymore—ze had to deal with it in high school and sees it online all of the time, and it's really damn tiring. It might be a flash judgment, but the discomfort settles in zir stomach and ze can't get it to go away.

The girl of the trio, Muschietta, is the one who finishes up introductions and check in's ("I use she, her, and hers, my high of the week was probably acing a reading quiz and my low was definitely the fact I've already had two papers due on the same day, and my favorite type of ice cream is by far butter pecan), and as soon as she finishes Enjolras find ze can't keep zir mouth shut.

"I hate to bring this up so early," ze starts, and can see the flicker of surprise across Combeferre's face at zir tone, "and it's certainly nice to see fresh faces, but I just want to issue a reminder that we've chosen to use 'GSM' as a more easily inclusive LGBT and not as a way to include cisgender, heterosexual polyamorous people. This is an exclusively queer space, and poly people co-opting queer terminology and struggles that they do not have is frustrating and causes problems for actual queer people, so if you happen to be—"

There's a long, low whistle from a few people over. Everyone turns to see it came from Muschietta, eyebrows raised.

"Now those, those are some vast assumptions about us—myself in particular—that you're making, and they're not appreciated. Though even here it's none of your business, I can _assure_ you, since you're oh-so-concerned, that I am equally attracted to men and women, and though I cannot speak for my two partners, it's rather early to make vast, exiling statements, don't you think?"

Enjolras blinks, mind blank for a half second. Ze can feel the slight blush fighting its way up but suppresses it well.

"You're right," ze says after a moment, and some of the room exhales. "I apologize for the assumptions. However it is often necessary in these situations to make them. I hope you can understand my wariness and the need to take precautions."

Muschietta looks zir over carefully, and awkwardness collects as every second passes. But finally she nods and says, "Apology accepted. It is… unfortunate but true that there is often inappropriate usage of queer terminology by the poly community. But I've also seen a lot of crossover between the two communities, which is where it makes it difficult—because queer poly people should be able to use that language to describe their own struggles if they so choose."

"But they shouldn't be using it to describe their poly experiences as if they're the same."

Muschietta shrugs. "Sometimes, they are." Enjolras opens zir mouth to respond, but doesn't get the chance before Bossuet speaks.

"She's right. And honestly, I've had more people tell me being in a relationship with two people at once is wrong and unnatural than I have tell me my attraction to men is. Which yeah, isn't true for everyone, but on a personal level these experiences have a lot of similarities in the way I'm perceived."

Enjolras tenses but rolls these words over in zir mind. Next to zir, Combeferre can sense this will escalate, and makes the decision to cut it off before it starts.

"This is certainly an important topic to discuss—I don't want to imply it isn't—but I also think it might be one more appropriate for a later date." He fiddles with his glasses and pushes them up. Enjolras looks rather betrayed, and Muschietta seems a tad peeved, but Bossuet (and Joly and Jehan) looks relieved which is enough to reassure Combeferre.

Finally, Enjolras clears zir throat and, in an awkward transition, says, "It is unfortunate you've been on the receiving end of those comments. I know many of us have experience with similar ones. Perhaps now is an appropriate time to open the floor for discussion of those."

There are a few more seconds of uncomfortable silence. Then, Combeferre says in a gentle voice, "My literature professor has dropped several slurs, both homophobic and racist, since the beginning of term. I've… briefly considered confronting him but haven't personally felt up to the challenge." Courfeyrac is sitting next to him, and she presses her foot against his firmly as a way to say she's there.

Quietly, Jehan pipes up, "Dr. Garret refuses to use my preferred name, even though I talked to her after class, which is really frustrating. She—I know she's doing it purposely, and it's… it makes me really uncomfortable."

"That's bullshit." It comes from, of all people, Grantaire, who looks like he's taking Jehan's struggles personally. "No, seriously. What the fuck." He sighs and crosses his arms. "She needs to get her head out of her ass. And I'll write that on my end of semester evaluation if you won't. Just like I'll be writing 'douchebags continue to call their friends 'fags' and 'gay' as a replacement for 'stupid' when I get called in to explain why I lost it and socked someone."

Bahorel raises his hand and mutters an, "Amen." Enjolras reaches down to zir bag and pulls out a notepad and pen. Ze writes down "anti-slur campaign" and turns back to the room, where it seems a fire has been lit.

"People assuming you're straight just because you don't talk about not being."

"Or because you don't fit their 'idea' of gay; you're too masculine, you can't like guys! 'That's gross'!"

"My literature professor last year—Sullivan—liked to treat characters' queerness as something that exists solely to make men weak. And of course, 'it didn't count' if they were women."

"I'm tired of people telling me 'it's a phase' and then on the other side of the coin, people saying I can't really be trans* because I'm fluid." Jehan's eyes are downcast and they blush when they say it, but the statement is firm.

Across the room, her own eyes locked on her hands, Muschietta says, "I'm tired of people deciding that I can't be queer because my relationships present as straight."

"I'm tired…" Cosette's voice is tentative, but everyone turns to look at her, and so she speaks up. "I'm tired of it being acceptable for teachers and administrators to preach that 'homosexuality is an abomination'. I think… sometimes, I think I'm just tired of organized Catholicism." She blinks back tears, but if anyone notices, they say nothing.

From the corner armchair, the same one he folded himself into last week, Feuilly half barks, "I'm so done with being told a label is the only proper way to exist and if you can't find the right one you're really just straight." Then, before anyone can add it, he says, "And don't fucking tell me the q word is fine, I don't feel comfortable using it, thanks."

There's a small moment of silence.

"I'm tired of people deciding how much a person is or isn't allowed to define themselves in terms of being queer," Enjolras finishes, and zir voice is soft but fierce. "If it doesn't matter for you? Great. But it matters for me, so kindly stop talking." There is a brief murmur of agreement across the room. Very softly, Enjolras' watch beeps, indicating the technical hour they set aside each week has expired. Ze glances around the circle, but no one else moves to speak, so ze nods curtly at Combeferre, whose hand rests comfortably on Enjolras' forearm.

"That seems like a good place for us to end this week. Thank you all for coming; we hope to see you next week. Same time, same place, and feel free to bring your friends," he says with a genuine warmness only Combeferre seems to posses. The occupants of the room file out, Cosette shows people the door, and only, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Enjolras are left. Courfeyrac lets out a long, deep sigh.

"So," she says, "That was… an adventure."

"We'll get there," Enjolras says. "I'll… work on it, and we'll get there."

"We will," Combeferre says firmly, and means it, as he tugs the two of them upstairs as well.


End file.
